The night had settled over the estate like a velvet shroud, the kind of darkness that swallowed the corridors whole, leaving only shadows and whispers behind. I walked through the halls, trying to focus on the mundane—on the cold marble floors, the portraits of stern-faced ancestors—but my mind kept returning to him. Damian. The way he had pressed against me earlier, the way his eyes had lingered on mine with that dangerous mix of desire and ownership.
I told myself I was strong. I was careful. I wasn't naive. And yet, the moment I stepped into the library, he was there. Standing by the fireplace, glass of whiskey in hand, the flickering light casting harsh angles across his face, he looked like a predator who had been waiting patiently for his prey.
"You seem restless," he said without turning, voice low, calm. But I could hear the underlying growl, the barely restrained tension.
"I am," I admitted, trying to keep my tone neutral. "It's a large house, Damian. One can get… lost."
He finally turned, and just the motion of his head sent a shiver down my spine. His gaze pinned me like a hawk circling prey. "Lost, or testing limits?"
I met his stare, unwilling to flinch. "Perhaps a bit of both."
That earned me a smile that was anything but warm. He set his glass down and took a slow step toward me, each movement measured, deliberate. "I like that you test me," he murmured, almost to himself. "It makes the chase… more interesting."
"I'm not a game," I said sharply, though my pulse betrayed me, fluttering in a way that was entirely unwelcome.
"No," he agreed, voice dropping to a velvet growl as he closed the remaining distance. "You are mine. Whether you like it or not, Mara. You are mine in ways you don't even realize yet."
Before I could protest, his hand slid to my waist, pulling me flush against him. The heat of his body pressed into mine, suffocating and intoxicating. My knees threatened to buckle, and I had to remind myself to breathe.
He lowered his lips to my ear, voice harsh and possessive. "You think you can push me, defy me, and walk away unscathed? I don't do gentle, Mara. Not with you. Not ever."
I swallowed hard, trying to summon defiance. "Then perhaps you should learn patience. Some fire can't be tamed."
His laugh was dark, dangerous, vibrating through my chest. "Fire?" he repeated, voice low. "No, you are a wildfire. And I will contain you, whether you want me to or not."
Then, before I could react, he pressed his mouth to mine in a kiss that was commanding, consuming, leaving no room for resistance. My hands instinctively tangled in his hair, my body betraying me even as my mind screamed to pull away. The intensity of him—the sharpness of his desire, the rawness of his claim—pulled me into a storm I wasn't ready to navigate.
He broke the kiss just enough to look into my eyes, his forehead resting against mine, breathing ragged but controlled. "I could do this forever," he said, voice almost tender beneath the obsession. "And I might, if you keep testing me."
I didn't know how to respond. Part of me wanted to push him away, to scream at him for the control he wielded so effortlessly. Another part—an inexplicable, terrifying part—wanted to melt into his arms, surrender completely to the dangerous pull.
He pressed another kiss to my temple, slower this time, deliberate. "You are mine," he repeated, almost like a prayer, a curse, and a promise all at once. "And every second you fight it, I will remember. I will wait. I will take what I am owed."
The fire inside me, the defiance I had clung to, began to crack. Not entirely, not yet—but enough for me to understand the peril I faced. Damian Hale didn't just want me. He needed me to break, to submit, to acknowledge the obsession that neither of us could deny.
And as I stood there, pressed against him, the dark pull between fear and desire thick in the air, I realized with cold clarity: I was already lost.
Lost to him.
Lost to this dangerous, consuming obsession.
And, in a way, I welcomed it.